Survivor's Guilt
by PatronumAlexis9
Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione barely made it out of the Battle of Hogwarts with their lives. Unfortunately, Lupin, Tonks, Fred Weasley, and countless others weren't so lucky. Hermione blames herself for the numerous deaths that occurred. When Ron comes to take her to the Burrow, how will she cope with seeing the Weasley's for the first time since the battle? ** HP Oneshot


**A/N: This is a quick one-shot on what was happening in the mind of Hermione after the Battle of Hogwarts. Please leave a review telling us what you thought!**

 **Thanks, PA9**

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The Battle was hard. Enough said there. I wouldn't ever wish that horrid experience on anyone. It was, without a doubt, the most difficult time of my life. I made a mental decision not to return to the Burrow after that, vowing to the world around me that I wouldn't ever return- not until I was ready. Which I wasn't. I don't think I ever _would_ have come back, had Ron not visited me and my parents after we moved to Australia.

"Come back," I remember him saying. "You _need_ to come back, Hermione."

"I can't," I replied, head down. "It's my fault Fred died."

"How is it your fault? _You're_ the glue that held us together in the first place!"

"I don't know. No... I, erm... it just _is_ my fault, Ron. I..." I sighed.

After days of convincing, Ron finally persuaded me to go. He spent the nights between that time in the guest room of our house. The memory charm I had placed on my parents was still in effect, so they just assumed he was a friend from Australia. He looked Australian enough, I guess. With a touch of magic here and there, he looked as much of an 'Aussie' (his words, not mine) as the next person.

I remember our journey to the Burrow. We flew by the Muggle airplane. I had insisted that we not get there by any magical means. I wanted to take as long as possible to get back.

Harry had apparently stayed at the Burrow with the Weasleys since the Battle. When Ron and I opened the door, we were first greeted with the tips of many wands, then with hugs and kisses.

"Hello, everyone." I said meekly, looking down at my feet.

"Welcome home, Hermione." Mrs. Weasley gave me another hug.

A chorus of "hellos" sprang from the other Weasleys and Harry.

I had noticed Harry and Ginny standing suspiciously close to each other. At second glance, I realized that Harry had his arm around Ginny's waist.

I was too melancholy to comment on what looked like budding romance. Ron had thought I was near depression for the first two days in Australia. I suppose he still does.

"Come along, dear, and watch the baby, Bill! He's a child, not a dead rabbit!" I flinched as Mrs. Weasley said the word- dead. It was so hollow, devoid of hope. If I could imagine an embodiment of death, it would be a pit of despair, lost souls drowning in each wave of sadness.

"Oh, I'm sorry, hon." Mrs. Weasley put her hand around my shoulders and squeezed me for a second before letting her arm fall. "You know where your room is. Go unpack, it'll give you something to do other than sit here, miserable in your own skin!"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley." I still felt numb. _My fault, my fault, my fault..._ the words echoed in my head. It was only a minute later when George came up the stairs, footsteps barely audible.

"Hermione, you've got to stop blaming yourself." He sat on the bed next to me and began to take in the room, which hadn't been used since my last visit. I shivered at the thought, then let my gaze rest on our surroundings as well.

Every square inch of this room was imprinted into my brain, as if someone had branded my mind with an iron. But it felt more like home than anywhere else I knew. The faded yellow flower wall paper, with an antique mirror I'd found in a pile of the Arthur Weasley's Muggle junk and decided to hang up. I remembered that day- Ron had busted his toe with a hammer while nailing a hook for the mirror to hang on into the wall. The nightstand and dresser were both old wood, reminding me of an old cabin my family used to rent out when I was little. The dresser had one drawer that always fell out when I opened it, so I hold it up with one hand and open it with the other to make sure nothing falls. The bed, positioned by the parallel wall, had a light blue bedspread and the pillows each varied in color. The one I had been resting on was a faint peach color. My books were all stacked in a small bookshelf that Mrs. Weasley had picked up in a highly acclaimed furniture shop in Paris- the owner was selling some older furniture at half-price, and she simply adored the shelf. At the top lay intricate designs, each a fanciful swirl or hand-carved flower. I breathed in and out. _Welcome home, Hermione._

"You know what, George?" Hermione stood. "I think I have."

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Thanks for reading, guys, hope you enjoyed!

~Alexis


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